"Why, Deary!" says she. "You haven't your cigars, have you? Here they are--and the matches. There! Now for the surprise. Our young people have decided--that is, Edna has--not to be married until two weeks from next Wednesday." Does Pa Pulsifer rant any more rants? No. He gets his perfecto goin' nicely, blows a couple of smoke rings up towards the ceilin', and then remarks in sort of a weak growl: "Hanged if I'll walk down a church aisle, Maria--hanged if I do!" "I told them you wouldn't," says Ma Pulsifer, smoothin' the hair back over his ears soothin'; "so they've agreed on a simple home wedding, with only four bridesmaids." "Huh!" says he. "It's lucky they did." But, say, take it from me, his days of crackin' the whip around that joint are over. I'm beginnin' to believe too how some of that dope I fed to Herbert must have been straight goods. Vee insists on talkin' it over later, as we are camped in one of them swing seats out on the veranda. "Wasn't he just splendid," says she: "standing up to Mr. Pulsifer that way, you know?" "Some hero!" says I. "I wonder would he give me a few lessons, in case I should run across your Aunty some day?" "Pooh!" says Vee. "Just as though I didn't go back to see if he'd gone and hear you putting him up to all that yourself! It was fine of you to do it too, Torchy." "Right here, then!" says I. "Place the laurel wreath right here." "Silly!" says she, givin' me a reprovin' pat. "Besides, that porch light is on." Which was one of the reasons why I turned it off, and maybe accounts for our sudden break when Marjorie comes out to tell us it's near twelve o'clock. Yes, indeed, though he may not look it, Ferdie is more or less of a help. [Illustration: "Which was one of the reasons I turned the porch light off."] CHAPTER VI WHEN SKEET HAD HIS DAY There's one thing about bein' a private sec,--you stand somewhere on the social list. It may be down towards the foot among the discards; but you're in the running. Not that I'm thinkin' of havin' a fam'ly crest worked on my shirt sleeves, or that I'm beginnin' to sympathize with the lower clawsses. Nothing like that! Only it does help, when Marjorie, the boss's married daughter, has planned some social doin's, to get an invite like a reg'lar guy. What do you know too? It's dance! Not out at their country place, either. She'd dragged Ferdie into town for a couple of weeks, and they'd been stayin' at the Ellins's Fifth-ave. house, just visitin' and havin' a good time. That is, Marjorie had. Ferdie, he spends his days mopin' about the club and taggin' Mr. Robert. "Better sneak off up to the Maison Maxixe with me," says I, "and brush up on your hesitation." A look of deep disgust from Ferdie. "I'm not a dancing man, you know," says he. "Both feet Methodists, eh?" says I. Ferdie stares puzzled. "It's only that I'm sure I'd look absurd," says he. "For once," says I, "you ain't so far from wrong. I expect you would."